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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25252246">Rockstars and Pharaohs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanarmr/pseuds/vulcanarmr'>vulcanarmr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Castiel Comforts Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Anger Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester Wears Eyeliner, Dean Winchester Wears Makeup, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester-centric, Depressed Dean Winchester, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, Eyeliner, Fluff, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, I Don't Even Know, If You Squint - Freeform, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kinda, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child, Sad Dean Winchester, Season/Series 15, So much angst, Trauma, ish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:36:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25252246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanarmr/pseuds/vulcanarmr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, Dean tries out eyeliner; angst ensues.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>318</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Rockstars and Pharaohs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>somebody posted about how great Dean looks in eyeliner, and i took that and added a few tons of angst :,)</p><p>tws for abuse and homophobia</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not that Dean doesn’t like makeup.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks girls look good when they wear it. It’s cute, sometimes pretty sexy. Not to say that they look bad without it. Most girls look great with or without makeup, but he thinks it looks nice on them.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks it looks nice on dudes, too.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, he’ll probably never say that out loud, because that would involve admitting a bunch of far-too-long repressed feelings, which he really doesn’t want to do ever, if he can help it. Sure, he’s managed to get past thinking it’s a girl thing when it comes to other guys, but of course he’s different. Other guys can wear makeup. Other guys can be queer. It’s just Dean who can’t. He tells himself he doesn’t want to, either. He’s been telling himself that since he was fourteen. Because makeup’s for sissies, sissies are gay, and that leads to black eyes and bruised ribs. Dean has enough childhood memories to back that up. Not every scar he has came from hunting. But whatever. That’s not the point. If a guy’s into lipstick and all, Dean’s not going to complain. </p><p> </p><p>He’s just going to like it, before going home feeling pathetic about liking it and hearing John Winchester’s voice in his head telling him it’s wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Anyways.</p><p> </p><p>When Dean says he doesn’t like makeup, he means on himself. He doesn't wear that shit, and he has his reasons <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-) </em> not to. Sure, it’s not like he’s never been tempted to before. Truth be told, he’s always wondered what he might look like with a little of that stuff on. He’s gotten to the point of nearly downloading one of those apps that adds makeup to pictures just to try it out sometimes. And he doesn’t really want like a whole face full of glitter and bright colours. That’s a bit much, honestly <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> but some plain black eyeliner, maybe. It’s not like eyeliner’s girly or anything. Rockstars wear eyeliner all the time. And if Dean’s retained an ounce of information from history class, it’s that so did pharaohs in ancient Egypt. So would it really be <em> that </em>bad? It couldn’t be, right? Just a little bit?</p><p> </p><p>That’s what Dean tells himself as he stares at the eyeliner pencil sitting on his bed, which he definitely didn’t steal from the Dollar General when it was his turn to go on a supply run. He chews at the inside of his lip as he watches the pencil like it might explode. Like <em> he </em> might explode if he picks it up. Or worse, like John fucking Winchester might come back from the grave <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-) </em> and start screaming at him. Both ideas are ridiculous, so Dean picks it up anyway a moment later. He hates that he feels brave for doing that, because what the hell is so brave about picking up a goddamn eyeliner pencil. But still, he can’t help that he feels that way somehow, and he can’t help the irrational terror that fills him as well, so he keeps telling himself over and over again in his head that eyeliner isn't that girly. And that John isn’t around. Besides. No one else has to see.</p><p> </p><p>He moves to the old sink in his bedroom, slowly and quietly, because he has this stupid fear that someone might hear and walk in on him, and that if someone does walk in on him <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> it will go horribly wrong. Even though he knows that Cas probably wouldn’t care, Sam’s out, and that Jack’s like three so what the hell does he know about gender roles and shit. But that doesn’t stop Dean’s stomach from twisting over and over again as he squeezes the pencil in his hand and closes the door. He locks it, too. Just in case.</p><p> </p><p>He’s standing in front of the mirror a moment later, staring at his reflection, half expecting it to reach through the glass and punch him in the face, knock some sense into him. After a solid five minutes of that not happening, Dean tears his gaze away and looks at the eyeliner in his hand. His stomach gives a strange jolt, and he swears under his breath. “Here goes nothing…” he mumbles to himself, pulling off the cap and rolling the pencil in his fingers until it feels right. Well. Kind of right. He can’t shake the feeling that this is wrong. Like he’s going to get in trouble <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> or get made fun of, or <em> something. </em> He feels like he’s a kid and not a full grown man who can make his own decisions. Well. Maybe he can’t. There was always John controlling his childhood and now apparently Chuck controlling everything else. That just makes this feel worse, because he might be being watched right now. Fantastic.</p><p> </p><p>Dean takes a deep breath and tries to ignore that for now as he leans forward towards the mirror. His hand is shaking as he grips the eyeliner pencil tightly and brings the tip close to his face. Scratch that, everything’s shaking. Dean swears again, and he tries to take another deep breath. Air feels like it’s cut short as it makes its way to his lungs, and he leans back again, groaning quietly in frustration. He then glances at the door, like someone might’ve heard him. He stays frozen, staring at the door, for a solid moment, before he looks back at the mirror. He wants to just give up and burn the pencil<em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> to bury the ashes where no one will find them. But he takes a third deep breath, leaning forward once again. He tells himself John’s not here. Chuck’s not watching. No one has to know.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t even really notice what he’s doing it until he’s done. And he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He takes a step back, jaw clenching and unclenching. He doesn’t know what to think. It’s not that much, really, and it’s sort of sloppily done. But a little goes a long way, because his eyes look bigger somehow. It’s something he never really realized eyeliner did until now. It feels weird to think that, and his heart is pounding in his chest. He still feels like a scared teenager, and he really doesn’t know if he wants to wash it off right now or leave it for a while since he has nothing to do today. He manages to see through all the dread and discomfort in his body for a moment, and he blinks a few times as he realizes that it really doesn’t look too bad. It’s kind of badass. And just a little bit cute.</p><p> </p><p>That thought, together with the sound of the bunker door opening and what are probably Sam’s footsteps on the stairs, ends up doing it.</p><p> </p><p>Dean’s stomach twists hard. He feels like he’s snapped out of something, and he shakes his head slightly. The pencil drops into the sink. What the hell was he thinking? Fucking eyeliner. Not that girly? Girly enough. If it had been for a case or something, maybe then, and only then, this could be excused. But now? Dean just wanted to try. There was no reason, there was nothing, he was just doing it. If John could see him now<em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> he’d be livid. Dean squeezes his eyes shut at the thought, and memories come back in a quick flash before he opens them again. He can’t do this, he can’t let anyone see. He can’t let himself indulge in these kinds of things, no matter how he feels. The shame he feels now is comparable to how he felt when he first kissed a boy. Fifteen. Sioux Falls. Behind a Walgreens. It felt okay at first. He was scared, of course. He knew what he was doing wasn’t right. But it wasn’t really that bad at first. Hell, looking past the fear and all, it actually felt good. Then John came looking, and when he saw…</p><p> </p><p>Black eyes, bruised ribs.</p><p> </p><p>Dean looks down into the sink, staring for a moment as he works on pushing the memory away, before rolling down the sleeve of his flannel. He looks back in the mirror, before reaching up to try and wipe away the evidence of his crime with his sleeve before anyone finds him <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-) </em> and sees. His chest feels tight as he tries to get the eyeliner off without gouging his eyes out, and he hates that he’s suddenly this panicky. He also hates that all his sleeve seems to do is smudge. He takes a deep breath and lets the water run, before getting the corner of his sleeve wet. He reaches up to try and get the makeup off again when he hears the sound of glass shattering closeby.</p><p> </p><p>Dean freezes.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment he thinks it might be nothing, but with the bunker door opening just a moment before the sound, it seems suspicious to say the least. He moves quickly to grab the gun sitting on his nightstand, before counting to three in his head and unlocking the door to his room. He swings it open, pointing the gun, finger ready to pull the trigger if necessary. And he sees Jack staring at him. He glances down and sees a broken glass surrounded by a puddle of water. Right. That makes sense. He lowers the gun, shaking his head slightly as he sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“You gotta be more careful, kid,” he mumbles.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jack replies quietly. Cas is standing a few feet away a moment later, closely followed by Sam. Who knew glass could be so loud? And so damn worrying?</p><p> </p><p>“Dean?” Cas says, and his voice sounds questioning. He’s staring at the gun, Dean realizes, so he decides to explain quickly before anyone jumps to conclusions. Because yeah, his relationship with Jack is still pretty complicated, even though the kid’s got his soul back and has apologized for killing Mary. It’s not that Dean doesn’t want to forgive him, because the kid’s a good kid, really, but it’s not exactly easy. Anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“Jack dropped a glass, it spooked me, so I thought I’d check out what made the noise. I overreacted.” He sighs again, clicking on the safety of the gun and tossing it backwards onto his bed. Cas looks relieved, to say the least. But he’s also looking at him. Strangely. More strangely than normal. Dean’s eyebrows knit together when he realizes that Sam’s looking at him kinda weirdly, too. He scoffs softly, looking between the two of them. “What?” he asks defensively. “There something on my-”</p><p> </p><p>Face.</p><p> </p><p>Oh.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dean’s face goes hot, and he chews at the inside of his lip. He wants to run back into his room <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-) </em> before anyone can say or do anything. But he can’t move, so he just waits. Waits for the judgement <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> the questions <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> the rejection <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> the <em> pain. </em> It’s coming. He can feel it. He should never have tried. <em> What was he thinking? </em></p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know you were into makeup,” Sam says after a moment, and Dean’s stomach clenches. Sam doesn’t sound disappointed or mad, but Dean can’t help but feel like he’s mocking him <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-)</em> like it’s only a matter of time <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-) </em> before something worse happens. He feels like his lungs aren’t getting enough air, and he can’t make himself take a deep enough breath to fix that. All he can think about is the inevitable <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> and it makes his head feel fuzzy. He can’t think. All he can think of is being fifteen behind a Walgreens, and John <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> and how he shouldn’t have been this stupid.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not wearing fucking makeup,” he hisses after a moment, spitting the words out. The anger’s coming. He can feel it. The only way to protect himself<em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> to cope. It’s all he knows. All he can do to defend himself before the worst. But he feels more afraid than angry right now <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> and he can’t help that. Sam raises his arms in feign surrender.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, chill...it looks cool.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. His brain just tells him that Sam’s mocking him further <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> and that the worst <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-) </em> is still to come. He can’t breathe. “Shut up,” he finally whispers, hating how pathetically <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-) </em> quiet it comes out. He looks down, and he curses himself for wanting to cry. Only sissies <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-) </em> cry. And he’s not that <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> he can’t be that <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> if John <em> knew </em> he was still that <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> Dean couldn’t handle it. He feels like he’s being crushed <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> like he’s going to die…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Black eyes, bruised ribs, black eyes, bruised ribs, black eyes, bruised ribs, black eyes, bruised ribs, black eyes, bruised ribs, black eyes, bruised ribs, black eyes, bruised ribs, black eyes, bruised ribs- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, it does suit you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean looks up as Cas’ voice breaks through the loudness in his head. He manages to meet the angel’s eyes. He still can’t breath properly, and he’s so damn afraid <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-) </em> that Cas is lying. “No it doesn’t,” Dean states, because he knows he’s not allowed to do this kind of thing <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> that he shouldn’t look good in goddamn makeup. Cas just nods.</p><p> </p><p>“It does.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean shakes his head hard <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> trying to find air again. Cas just nods again. He takes a step closer <em> (black eyes, bruised ribs-),</em> and Dean expects the worst. But nothing comes. Just a gentle hand on his left shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Black eyes, bruised ribs. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Black eyes, bruised ribs. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Black eyes, bruised ribs… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Black eyes, bruised… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Black eyes… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean finds himself smiling just slightly as he stares into Cas’ eyes, and Cas stares back. It’s alright. It’s okay. He’s okay. John’s not here. For a moment, Dean’s okay.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s alright. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s pretty badass,” Sam says soon, and Dean manages to pull his eyes away and look down.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” he mumbles. “Let’s just clean Jack’s mess.” He turns to look at Jack, who looks confused to say the least. Dean just laughs softly, not feeling like he has the energy to explain. He sighs gently, glancing back at Cas as the angel heads off, probably to get a mop or something. Dean watches him go, before looking away and bending down to pick up glass with Sam.</p><p> </p><p>When they’re done, Dean heads back to his room. He feels emotionally exhausted. But hey. What’s new. At least he doesn’t feel too awful. Most days feel worse than death, but today’s probably eighty percent of that. Which is good in his book. It’s probably the happiest he’ll be for a while, so he intends on relaxing and trying to enjoy it a bit. He moves in front of the mirror, getting his sleeve wet again, before doing his best at wiping eyeliner off of his eyes. It takes a good few minutes, but soon it’s mostly gone, the evidence all washed away, and he sighs and moves towards his bed. He just stands there for a moment, before setting the gun from earlier aside on his nightstand and collapsing on top of the bed with a small ‘oof’. He closes his eyes, replaying today’s events over and over again in his head. It’s probably not the best thing to do if he’s trying to relax, because today makes him think of painful memories, but he doesn’t have anything else to do. He’ll probably go get a beer or four later.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Dean,” Cas’ voice says from the door hours later. Dean opens his eyes and sits up on the bed, confusion and fear filling his body. He thought it was over, but suddenly he can’t breathe again. Is this it? Is this the part where Cas says that Dean’s disgusting for doing what he did and that he should be ashamed of himself? Dean knows Cas isn’t John. He’s way different. But he can’t help how scared he feels. Like everything Cas said before was a lie. He doesn’t want it to be a lie, but what else is he supposed to expect?</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Cas,” Dean manages to breathe out. Cas tilts his head slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“I just, um...wanted you to know that I meant what I said earlier. It really does suit you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean looks down, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t a lie. Cas really thinks that. Or at least he says he does. And that’s good enough for Dean right now, because he doesn’t have the energy to overthink things too much. “Thanks, buddy. Appreciate it.” He really, really does. More than he can say.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of silence, before Cas speaks again. “I did notice it was a bit...uneven.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean snorts a laugh. “Of course, you would.” Of all the things Cas would notice, that would be one of them. Of course he would notice that and not really care that Dean was wearing something that’s supposed to be for girls. Dean finds himself thinking that he loves him for that as he looks up. Cas smiles slightly. Dean finds himself smiling back.</p><p> </p><p>“Well. I can always do it for you. If you ever decide to do it again.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean bites the inside of his lip, and all words seem to be gone from his throat for a few seconds. He doesn’t know what to think about that. He can’t help but know what John would think about it. Cas isn’t a dude, but he’s in the body of one, and that’s enough. A guy doing another guy’s makeup? Not natural. “What, you’re a makeup expert now?” Dean finally teases, pushing the thoughts in his head away. Cas rolls his eyes slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“No, but my hand may be steadier than yours.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean grins. “Touche.”</p><p> </p><p>Cas smiles gently, before looking down. “I’ll leave you now. Goodnight, Dean.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean nods, almost wanting to tell Cas to stay. But he’s barely ready for eyeliner, so he knows he’s not ready for that. “Night.”</p><p> </p><p>Cas turns and leaves, and Dean feels suddenly alone. He looks down. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be doing the makeup thing again. It feels too hard. But maybe he will someday. Maybe it will get easier to do it.</p><p> </p><p>And maybe he’ll take Cas up on his offer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope you enjoyed reading, comments and kudos are always appreciated &lt;3 have a wonderful day/night!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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